


False Heart

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Armitage Hux Lives, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Pre-Relationship, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: It wasn't as if HuxenjoyedPoe Dameron's daily visits, orlooked forwardto them.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	False Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LamiaCalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/gifts).



Hux poked at the bandages around his chest, concealing the unsightly translucent skin beneath, but not the warm glow of the pulmonodes. He'd been wearing a protective vest beneath his uniform when it happened, but he'd made a grave mistake in underestimating Pryde, who had in fact shot to kill, rather than to stun. Even the best surgeons and medical droids couldn't have saved his heart and lungs. But, thanks to modern technology (and not the damn _Force),_ they could save him. Well...his body at any rate.

The only _good_ thing he could say about having ended up at the Resistance Base on Ajan Kloss was that everyone was far too busy to pay him any mind, aside from the doctors and droids in the medbay.

And Poe Dameron. _General_ Poe Dameron, as he loved to remind him at any given opportunity. If there wasn't an opportunity, he would _make_ one. At first it might have irked him, but after the surgery on his leg and second skin graft on his chest, Hux had grown too tired to really care. Besides, it was hardly as if a _Resistance_ general had the same standing as a general of the First Order. Dameron didn't even have a proper uniform. Laughable, really.

Hux checked the chrono by his bed. Dameron had made a habit of visiting every afternoon after seeing to his duties. Also laughable. A general's duties were _never_ over. Unless you got shot in the leg and the chest, the starship you were on blew up, and you were captured by the enemy - but no, Hux's responsibilities were merely _on hold_. For now, and for the foreseeable future.

To his irritation, he found himself anticipating Dameron's daily visits. It wasn't that he enjoyed seeing him, but there was nothing much for him to _do_ while he waited. There were only so many things you could talk about to medical droids with such basic programming, and the reading materials on the datapad he'd been provided with were at best frivolous and at worst obscene. How anyone could willingly read such drivel, he would never know.

In spite of himself, Hux's head jerked at the sound of that familiar knock on the door - Dameron always knocked, as if he wanted to give Hux some kind of illusion of privacy. He wasn't a prisoner of the Resistance, but he didn't exactly have _friends_ here. Dameron sauntered in, running his fingers through his thick, dark curls like he thought he was in some ridiculous Resistance propaganda vid. The worst thing was that Hux could see how that might be appealing - to some people anyway, if they were into that kind of thing.

"No hug, Hugs?"

"No new jokes, Dameron?" Hux sighed, rummaging around in his drawers for a clean shirt. Not so long ago he'd have been mortified to have been in such a state of undress in front of another person, bandages or not. Enduring three months of medical professionals poking and prodding at his bare chest would change a person's perspective, as would residing on a jungle planet. But he still missed the comfort of a high collar brushing against his neck, and the weight of his greatcoat resting on his shoulders.

"That's _General_ Dameron to you." There it was, along with that stupid smirk. "And what makes you think I'm joking?" Hux's chest tightened - presumably some side effect relating to the skin graft. He'd ask one of the droids about it later on. Dameron stepped closer to examine his chest, and the sensation intensified, accompanied by what felt like a mild fever. "Hugs, when was that dressing changed?" Hux swallowed.

"I don't remember," he admitted. He'd been keeping track of Dameron's visits, the droids doing their rounds, the guard patrol routines, the number of dead flies caught in the strip light (currently fourteen), but not _this._ Dameron bit his lip and motioned for Hux to sit down on the bed. He did so, clutching an awful beige shirt he'd found in the drawer. Everything was beige or brown, with the occasional olive green thrown in for unknown reasons.

"Things have been hectic these last few days. Medics have really had their hands full," Dameron said, carefully unwrapping the bandages, "I'm sure it was an oversight. I'll have a word." Hux didn't mention that he'd seen more than one volunteer in the medbay with nothing on their hands but time. The bitterness in Dameron's tone hinted that he didn't need to.

Hux hissed when the gauze was peeled off, bringing skin with it where the bacta barrier had dried up and left a crusty, sticky mess. Dameron muttered an apology, as if it was his fault. And in a way it was - it was his job to know _everything_ that went on here. At the same time, Hux didn't really blame him.

"It's actually healing pretty well." Hux closed his eyes as fingers brushed against his tender skin, unable to focus on anything except Dameron's hand over his false heart. It was unbearable, and he didn't want him to stop. The pathetic whine that slipped from his lips had absolutely nothing to do with the shock of cold bacta gel against his chest, but Dameron didn't need to know that.

"Sorry, should have given you a little more warning there. Almost done now." He shouldn't have felt disappointment. He shouldn't have felt much of anything.

By the time Dameron was wrapping the fresh bandages, Hux released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He was still adjusting to the pulmonodes - that would be it.

"There you go. See, I'd make a half decent medic if I wasn't the best pilot in the Resistance." Dameron grinned and, inexplicably, patted Hux's hand. Even more inexplicably, he actually grasped Dameron's hand before he could take it away.

"Relax." He squeezed Hux's hand very softly, and looked right into his eyes. "I don't have anywhere else I'd ra- that I need to be right now. I'll stay." Relief washed over Hux, amongst a lot of other things that he couldn't put a name to, and, for the first time in a _long_ time, he smiled.


End file.
